Air For the Editing Mines (Patreon)

Dear Heroes,

Good Public,

Humans all. Greetings from the editing mines.

The last couple of weeks I've been working on the 2nd edition of the UVG. How's it going?

• I've reordered the chapters. There is now a bestiary that combines factions, creatures, and more. There is now a single caravan section with rules for the caravan in one place.
• I've removed most of the SEACAT rules. I've left enough to understand some terms like test, the stats, and so on.
• This has left space for me to return some art and maps from the original UVG pdf that didn't make it. So ... more art.
• I'm also adding a few more vehicle options inspired by Skerples' work: https://coinsandscrolls.blogspot.com/2020/05/osr-extra-ultraviolet-grasslands.html

Yeah, yeah, mock me how my very basic rework is not so basic. Pfft.

Anyway, once the 2nd Ed is writ up, I'll post it.

So ... yeah, adding some more descriptive stuff to transport. Plan to add art for them too.

Behold, bestiary in progress.

...

To be honest, it's sometimes been quite ... emotional in the editing mines. I'm seeing lots of places where I've added layers and layers of content and changes because I felt insecurity about my own work and writing. It's a lot like peeling plasters: satisfying in the long run, but painful in the moment.

Editing the UVG has also seen me revisiting many structures in UB. A few things are definitely changing in UB.

I'm not going to throw away UB as it is now, but ... I will almost certainly fork its development and the current text will become some kind of free-ish apocryphal pdf work. :D

One thing that will go is the name. Hahaha. Y'all aren't getting the acronym UrButt on a printed book! If I changed the Porcelain Throne to the Porcelain Citadel, y'all can bet I'm doing it with UrButt!

Ahem.

Sorry about the terrible pun. Not sorry.

So ...

I sometimes decompress from editing by drawing and writing. It's unfortunate, because I feel time pressure to finish the editing and rework, but there's only so much I can do per day, so when I create new stuff instead, I feel like I'm goofing off.

There are lessons here! Hah.

More on those another time.

Thank you as always for your patience and support!

...

Post Scriptum

Till then. See that map above? I used it to run a three-session sort-of-horror adventure this month. It worked really quite well. I'll write it up all proper-like after getting UVG 2nd Ed under wraps.

But you're all going to get the text as it is now.

Enjoy the next bit, if a bit of story and world-building is your cup of tea!

Oh, and if you're a hero of the stratometaship: feel free to use this map as you like, so long as you attribute it!

Welcome to Ogledalé

# Story / Incoherence

## A Day in the Life of Bailli Ia Fruyi

Ia Fruyi sighed as they adjusted their militia suit with its baffle pattern.

"The ruffles again?" asked the other bailli.

"Yes, can't believe the council has decided we need to wear these things. Always getting caught on the plates."

"Court officials must present a fashionable cut to impress upon the Middlers that the court is not merely an archaic holdover from Petit Republican times," mock-recited the other.

"Pendu, tone," chuckled Ia, "the house scapebats may be watching."

"Ia, ia, up in the rafters, eyes and ears everywhere. Good thing we're such good, loyal right-swords of the court." snickered Pendu.

"Anyway, the ruffles."

"Oh, right, here ... let me help."

"Hmph. They make me look frothy."

"As is the latest fashion in the coffee shops. Pungent, with a head of froth."

Ia suppressed a laugh.

"So, what's the big Bessler case today? Fancy augment gone wrong? Child born forked?"

"Bessler? What makes you say that?"

"You polished your boots and holster and scabbard with your expensive polish. You only do that when you're hoping to catch a paradise-wallet's eye. Still hoping to retire to some hacienda and get estated."

"Never too late," huffed Ia.

"Well?"

"Eh, I don't know the details. Some rich-name Bessler lady looking to get her rich-wallet Middler trader husbandman out of her life while keeping his wallet."

"Ah, old name and new money."

Ia nodded, "Yeah, old name, new money."

Pendu smirked as he passed the blunt right-sword, "Well, and here I was thinking it was going to be a sharp-sword trial."

"Might still be. Caught an eye of the canon's complain. Heresy and occultery."

Pendu's ears perked up, "Oh? That sounds like they might send out a few billy sticks then, blow some bones, boil some demons."

"If they do, won't be my billy stick. Brr. I've put that up long ago."

"Oh, aye, me too. Live it to the fresh ones. Too long since the decanter, can't quite see them as unfolk enough anymore."

Ia was about to say something else, but closed their mouth instead and gestured vaguely.

"Right!" Pendu jumped, "Your masque."

--//--

## Temple of Justice, Soma

The bailli struck the double gong with his blunt right-sword. The two notes, at once sweet yet discordant, vibrated through the whitewashed, white-floored chamber.

The attendants of the court, the scribes, the canonist, the solicitors, the champions, the homunculi, the witnesses, and the watchers, all rose. The rustle of silken billows and patterned ruffle-coats was like a gust of wind through the golden larch forests.

In strode the judge, its robes of red and blue, its face of burnished chrome, all in sharp contrast with the muted pales of the gathered crowd.

“Here is the knife, here is the blade, here is the solution to the knot!” intoned the bailli, stentorian training obvious in their rippling throat.

“May we not be the knot,” answered the assembled.

The solicitors, champions, and homunculi rustled across the interlocking tiles of marble and alabaster to prostrate themselves before the judge, “We have presented the knot, may it be undone!”

The canonist walked forward, elegant and fearless, bearing a lump of flesh on a polished maple block. Setting it down, she said, “here is the sacrifice of the knot, may it sharpen your mind and reveal the right of way.”

She stepped back a pace, and chanted the summary of the case as the judge sat down with steely knives to cut the flesh into strips that fit into its metal mouth slit.

“Judge of our case, lord of our knot,

The dismay you’ve heard, of our complain,

Mastress Mirrormaid of the Lac d’Arxen Viv,

Noble bled, GMO-uplifted, well-to-deign,

Taxed and confirmed by the Course of Honour,

Brought to final despair, yea, her woe:

Vows marital, no fault hers, annulment.

Nix barrister, canonist representant,

Symbolic of the holy circumstance,

And the false husband’s unholy sin.

Heresy and dark arts occult the stain

Upon false Master Mirrorman, born Middler,

A merchant of the Pors Mirelettru.

Proofs presented of presence and absence,

Of marital duties ignored,

Of codominium mismanaged,

Of cultic practices abandoned,

Of forbidden documents and executables,

Of neural pathways modified against the codex,

Of tax corpses stolen from the state,

Of rituals dark and malign studied …

… and performed.”

An audible intake of breath, as the canonist painted a dire picture of the defendant for the chrome-faced judge.

The judge nodded and quietly finished eating the sacrificial flesh. A line of blood marked its reflective chin and dripped onto the white stones.

“The case is eaten! The case is digested!” announced the bailli, clipping his polished boots together. Taking the signal, the prostrate representatives scrambled back and arrayed themselves in their spaces on the floor.

“The scape beast was sweet,” announced the judge in the trained angelic tones of justice, “Its flesh distilled the case. Interesting nuances, challenging proofs, but simple.”

The judge’s eyeless face swept across the assembled attendants.

“The defendant absented himself in flesh and spirit. Even the homunculus is but an empty recorder.”

The defendant homunculus bowed respectfully.

“The records fed to the scape beast were also clear. The Mastress of the Lac etc. has the right of it by 87% of the canons and 82% of the commons. The annulment is granted, the estates are restored to the Mastress as though the wedding were unwitnessed by the All-Witness.”

The judge pauses, as though pondering an odd flavour, “Yet. Judgment contingent on delivery to the Master. We cannot annul the choices of the dead.”

The judge turns gracefully and strode out, like a cross between a mantis and a lion.

The Mastress’s homunculus turned its porcelain face to gaze at the canonist. Its eyes seemed clouded with the unease of the distant spirit behind them.

Her champions and solicitor scraped about her, whispering, “This is well and good! As good as may be expected or demanded. Why, one writ delivered to your false husband and your entire domain is restored. Yes, yes. This is excellent.”

With a change in posture, the homunculus shushed them. As one, they moved aside and made space for the canonist.

She paused for a moment, then offered her hand to the homunculus.

They walked, hand-in-hand to the silent gardens behind the Temple of Justice. The champions followed behind, billy sticks at the ready. Finally came the solicitors in their fashionable billows and fine ruffle-coats, like a flock of nervous parrots.

Under a spreading chestnut tree, hung with silent charms, the homunculus cocked its head at the canonist and presented its hand.

The canonist sighed and unplugged her wrist dropper. Five scarlet drops of blood fell into the white depression in the back of the homunculus’s delicately painted porcelain hand.

The homunculus licked the blood with its cat-like synthetic tongue. It was still for seven long seconds, then looked into the canonist’s eyes and nodded once.

A certain regal bearing went out of the homunculus and it announced, “The Mastress has left. I have been instructed to rate your services as worthy of … five flowers.”

The canonist’s thin lips mimicked a smile. Her eyes did not.

## House Mirror, Lac d’Arxen Viv

The Mastress’s eyes flicked open. She was cold, despite the central heating. Using the para-body coffin always left her feeling cold.

She gripped the sides, hard. Feeling plex and plaz with her strong, rock climber’s hands. Flesh, bone, blood. Not the cerametal and synth-fibre of a homunculus. Back in herself.

She cycled air through her lungs, counted ten deep breaths, and pulled herself smoothly upright.

Her two cats looked at her from the oriel seat.

Javelin, the red one, purred, “Welcome back. You look worried.”

Tokamak, the white one, meowed, “Didn’t get what you wanted?”

The Mastress wiped off the coffin gel and put on her heavy cotton bathrobe. She sighed and looked down at her hems, where humorous cartoon cats and dogs chased animate fruit in circles.

“No … I got what I needed.”

—//—

# Geography - The Region

Chalet Nors Merabev, Miracle Cloud House

The mastress’s summer palace in the Rexal.

Eius Regio, Their Region

A forested steppe strip of territories between the First and Second Mountain Belts developed by northern Rainbowlanders after the reactivation of the Spiderway.

Eiuti, Theirfolk

Regionals descended from the administrative upper and middle classes of the region of the periods of the 16th and 17th Suns, after the Autominer Vitor Oieqlv ceased to speak to its pietants.

Ia Alta, The Tall One, The Tower

A mostly abandoned housing machine for the Autominer’s pietants at a circular junction in the Spiderway. It now serves as a caravanserai for officials on honorable, legal, and official business.

Ias Voxe, God’s Dam

An ancient givenstone dam, predating the Autominer’s arrival by untold millennia. It is unclear what magics could break the indestructible givenstone structure, but break it they did and the River now flows through it.

Lac d’Arxen Viv

A living metal lake. Once a key holding of the Autominer, now a Core Duchy of the Region.

Paroc, Parparian, Seedfolk

Native humans of the local valleys who emerged from the Purification arks centuries before the arrival of the Rainbowlanders.

Pors Mirelettru

A Regional port and city on the Flat Sea.

Rexali, Gifters

Local Rainbowlander descendants of the pietants who ministered to the Autominer Vitor Oieqlv in the period of the 14th and 15th Suns. Most left after the mines were abandoned, but some have remained in the Gift, going native or ‘to seed’ as the Regionals will say.

Rav Da, The River or This River

The combined river that flows from the fracture in the God’s Dam.

Rav Lvnc, Long River.

The longer river in the Rexal, its upper valley home to many insular Paroc communities.

Rav Vlver, Cinder River.

A short, once heavily polluted river, in the Rexal. Its course still runs through sedimentary layers of mining spoil.

Rexal Charvov, Firestone’s Gift. 

A former mining valley depleted Long Ago. Locals often call it simply “No Rexal” or “Our Gift”. Location of this module.

Spiderway, Caya d’Ranxa.

Suspended by frozen forcefield tendrils hundreds of feet above the plains, the spiderway is a synthetic colony infrastructure system from Long Long Ago. It was/self reactivated in the period of the 14th Sun and seems to draw its power from afar, perhaps from a fast star. In the 14th to 17th Sun periods its drones were regular enough for the development of the Region as an integral part of the civilized world. From the 18th Sun onwards, the regularity of the drones declined and after the Great Scandal, the Region became effectively self-governing.

# Equipment

Billy Stick.

Traditional militia weapon of the region. An electrodynamic baton, capable of variable outputs, from stun to detonate.

Champion Suit.

Flexible synthetic skin suit with ceramic dermal plates. Protects as chainmail, but increases the strength and speed of its wearer.

Field Shield.

A retardent energy shield stored in a chunky metallic bracelet. It proportionally disperses kinetic energy, providing great protection against firearms, but less so against melee weapons and bows.

Ruffle Coat.

The socially acceptable coat, its silksteel ruffles protect as leather armour.

—//—

# Cultural Terms

Autominer.

An ancient, godlike autonomous factory organism that led the first Rainbowlander settlement of the Region.

Bailli.

Sacred legal para-military warriors in the employ of the Course Administration. Officially, their germlines are terminated and they become drones of the state. Unofficially, it is a way for Middler and Lessler families to climb the social ladder.

Bessler, “Patrician”.

Members of the best, genetically-modified, high-status lineages in the Region.

Canonist.

A sacred lawyer, anointed by one of the Judges and given to partake of its secrets of the flesh.

Champion.

A professional, not necessarily a warrior, sworn in mind and flesh, to represent another. They have the right to carry a billy stick.

Course of Honour.

Traditional cycle of public rituals, duties, and offices performed and held by members of the Region competing for high socio-economic status and the blessings of the Autominer.

Homunculus.

A synthetic semi-human with rudimentary intelligence and significant spare cranial capacity, designed to be operated by a spirit-traveling human.

Judge.

Biomechanical interpreter of the laws and giver of judgements. Designed and grown from seed to be impartial and fair. Yet, still, as the solicitors say, “Chant in, chant out.” If fed biased inputs, the judge gives biased outputs.

Lessler, “Basics”.

The unimproved or recently-assimilated lineages who cannot be expected to partake of the full spectrum of Regional social affairs. Many cannot even access the “Legal Net” where wealthy and beautiful Besslers and Middlers spend much of their leisure time.

Middler, “Riders”.

Members of the socially-accepted, mildly augmented lineages that form the bulk of the blood-collar managerial castes.

Para-body Coffin.

A device for safely storing a human body and increasing its spiritual travel range. Once used to tele-operate machinery, now used by Besslers and rich Middlers to interact with the world more safely